Chapter 5
Gladiator Ring
Alexa
I stand face to face with a woman named Jo in the middle of the square ring. A black iron fence cages us in tight, hemming us close, making it clear neither of us is leaving unless someone drags us out or walk away marked as the winner. There is no other option.
My heart pounds fast and uneven, each beat echoing in my ears as my breathing turns heavy. After a few minutes of warming up in the locker room earlier, maybe I still have a chance. Jo can’t possibly be stronger after taking down that huge man before, right?
Both my fists rise in front of me. They tremble, still weak from the magic I forced out yesterday to help Harlow, magic that bruised my arms. My wounds heal in a day, but that doesn’t make me a better fighter. I’m still the same weak Alexa.
“Fight!”
Our eyes lock, neither of us blinking. I bounce lightly on my feet, testing the ring. The surface gives under my weight, soft enough to move on, hard enough to let me stay agile.
Jo strikes first. A punch aimed at my right cheek. I dodge left. Another comes, then another, and I twist and jump back, my feet quick, my body reacting before my thoughts catch up. For a few seconds, I survive by moving, not fighting.
“You ain’t gonna keep running forever, kitten,” Jo says, flashing a crooked grin.
She lunges without warning, her fists relentless. I back into the fence, metal pressing hard into my spine. There is nowhere left to move. Her fist slams into my cheek.
Pain explodes across my face. My ears ring, sharp and disorienting. I try to swing back, but I am too slow. She does not stop. Punch after punch lands, each one heavier than the last.
My head spins. Somehow my feet carry me away from the fence and back toward the center of the ring, but the pain ruins my balance. My knees buckle, and I crash to the mat.
“Yeah! Jo!”
The crowd roars her name. The referee steps toward me, arm raised.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
I force myself up onto my knees. Fireflies swarm my vision. I blink hard, shake my head, trying to clear the dizziness.
“Four! Three!”
With a groan, I push myself upright. The referee steps back, stopping the count.
Jo raises her fists again. I mirror her, even though I have no idea how I’m supposed to win this. She looks untouched, still standing strong after her last fight.
My lungs burn. Mythril begs inside my head, urging me to let her help, to let her take over. But I’m here to train, to control her, not to hide behind her strength.
When Jo attacks again, I stop dodging. I swing back. Our fists fly, our feet hopping and shifting as we exchange blows. I land hits, but mine feel weak compared to hers, like striking stone with bare hands.
I duck low, aiming for her stomach, but she reads me instantly. Her foot slams into the side of my neck.
The impact rattles my skull. A sharp buzz fills my ears, and I collapse again, gasping. My hands shake as I try to push myself up.
Jo is on me before I can move, her arm locking around my head. She drives her fists into my face, four times, two on one side, two on the other.
Blood spills from my nose and mouth. Pain radiates through my neck and jaw. The referee forces us apart, and I slump onto the mat, sucking in air like it is running out.
Suddenly, Lorraine’s voice echoes in my mind. Morning training. Her face twisted in cruelty, arms crossed, smile sharp as a blade. Her scrunched face colliding with the buzz in my head.
“If this was real, you’d already be dead.”
“Ten! Nine!”
Damn it. Am I really this weak?
I fight for breath, instinctively trying to heal, refusing to give in even as my vision dims and my thoughts scatter.
“Call me, Alexa. I’m right here,” Mythril says.
“No. Stay out of it. I have to prove myself.”
I push Mythril back with everything I have. My fading consciousness would make it easier for her to take control, but I resist.
The last time I let her loose, Lorraine paid the price. Clawed on her bleeding back, screaming in pain. I still remember the horror in Alpha Gabriel’s eyes that day. Maybe that is why he never came for me. I was too dangerous. Too weak to control.
“Four! Three!”
My hands tremble as I drag myself upright just in time. I wipe sweat and blood from my mouth and swallow hard, forcing moisture into my dry throat.
Jo turns from the fence, chuckling as she faces me again. “Gotta admit, you’re stubborn. Shame you ain’t walking outta this one.”
Mythril presses closer, urgent. “No. We can win this. Let me help.”
Jo settles into her stance again. So do I, even as my vision blurs and pain spreads through my entire body. She feints with her fists, testing me.
I wait.
Then I drop low and drive forward, tackling her legs with everything I have left. She goes down hard. My hands lock around her knees, forcing them in, and I throw my weight over her, pinning her to the mat, refusing to let her move.
Success! I can still fight.
I land three savage punches to her face, feeling the impact travel up my arms. She groans and rolls to the side with everything she has, trying to slip out from under me. My hands strain to keep her pinned, my body pressing down as I fight to hold her there.
“I’m so close. I can’t lose now. Mythril.”
My consciousness starts to blur as Mythril pushes forward. The instinct not to lose my prey surges through me, raw and feral. I bite down hard on Jo’s shoulder. She shrieks as my teeth grow larger and sharper under Mythril’s influence, my fangs piercing her flesh and drawing fresh blood.
Jo screams, thrashing wildly, her heel slamming into my stomach. The pain knocks the air from my lungs, and for a split second my focus slips. She wrenches free and scrambles up.
Before she can fully stand, I lunge and grab her by the neck and shoulder. My fingers stretch, sharpening into claws that dig deep into the wound I just tore open. Jo screams again as blood wells beneath my grip.
“Yes. That’s it. I can feel it,” Mythril hisses, thrilled. “My body is trembling.”
A violent pressure surges through my knee.
Before I can stop it, my leg shifts, transforming from the knee down into a long, thick, fur-covered Lycan limb.
The rest of my body stays human. Using the weight and power of it, I slam my knee into her face once, twice, three times, then drive a brutal kick into her stomach.
Gasps and shouts explode around us.
“Did you see that?”
“What’s wrong with her leg?”
“Is she a Lycan?”
“No, if she can’t control it, she’s only a monster!”
The voices snap me back to myself. Horror floods in all at once. I freeze, my grip loosening as I release her. Jo collapses to the mat, blood pouring from her nose, mouth, neck, and shoulder. She lies there unmoving.
The referee drops beside her and starts counting. I stagger backward, my legs shaking, my left leg screaming with pain where the transformation hasn’t fully faded. I clutch my thigh, biting my lip to keep from crying out.
“Back off, Mythril. Back to normal. Please.”
I force my thoughts inward, clinging to my human form.
“She’s a monster!”
No. Not that word again.
Lycans were supposed to be extinct a hundred years ago, yet here I am, living as something rare. Something wrong.
My transformation never comes out right. It leaves me with a body that feels just as broken. And by the rules of magical beings, anyone who can’t control their own form is considered a monster. A human who shifts into nothing but a wild, mindless creature.
A danger to this world.
“One!”
The referee springs to his feet and throws his arms toward me. “The winner, Brianna Smith!”
There is no celebration. The crowd erupts into angry jeers, curses flying through the air.
“Cheater!”
“We want our money back!”
I stand there, chest heaving, sweat and blood soaking my skin as dozens of eyes burn into me.
Among them, only Harlow looks different.
His gaze is steady, sympathetic. He nods once, lifting his thumb in quiet support, and something inside me steadies.
Slowly, my leg, my fangs, my claws fade back into human form.
“How could a normal human lose to a monster like that?”
Normal human. The words hit me like a blow. My heart sinks, and I can’t move. Jo is an ordinary human?
I stare at her broken body, reality crashing down on me. Magical beings heal fast. Humans don’t. Compared to an Omega, a human is fragile. With wounds like those, how could she survive?
Blood stains the mat beneath her, vivid and terrifying. The crowd continues to roar, anger and disappointment rolling through the room.
“What is wrong with them?” Mythril snaps. “Why are they acting like this?”
“I…” My voice falters, lost in the noise.
Then, slowly, the shouting dies down. The crowd parts, opening a path through the room. Mr. Moris strides toward the ring. Two men follow him, carrying an empty stretcher. Medics. He opens the iron gate and steps inside. The medics lift Jo carefully and carry her away.
When they’re gone, Mr. Moris stands in the center of the ring, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp as he surveys the crowd.
“Cheating?” he says evenly. “You’re the ones who placed the bets. You all knew Jo was just a regular human, and you still expected her to beat magical fighters in this club.”
Silence falls.
“Ain’t that cruel?” he continues, his voice cold.
“You magical folks, bored outta your minds, throwing dirty money at a human girl and asking her to face shifters and magical beings.” He sneers.
“Honestly, I’m impressed she lasted as long as she did.
But when she loses, you don’t get to cry about your money. ”
Low groans ripple through the room. One by one, people turn away, filing out toward the lower floor. Mr. Moris looks at me. “You did good, kid. You’re hired.”
My eyes blink rapidly. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Go see Rhys at the counter. He’ll get you a key and walk you through the rest.”
He steps down from the ring. I follow him out, my legs still unsteady as staff rush in to clean the bloodstained mat.
Outside the ring, Harlow is waiting. He gives me a casual wave, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. You did real good.”
I don’t think. I just step into him, my arms wrapping around his back. Relief crashes over me, heavy and overwhelming, and I rest my head against his chest. His scent grounds me, calm and familiar. The fight kept me wound tight the entire time. Now, standing here, I finally feel safe.
“I did it,” I say, grinning despite everything.
“Yeah,” he chuckles softly, hands settling on my shoulders. “You sure did. You’re strong.”
It takes a moment before I realize how close I am. Heat floods my face, mixing with the bruises already there. I pull back quickly.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
I’m probably drenched in sweat. That’s gross. He must hate that.
He clears his throat. “C’mon. Let’s get you patched up.”
“Oh, Jo.” My eyes widen as the girl flashes through my mind.
I hurry toward the dressing room behind the counter, ignoring the scowl Harlow throws my way. Inside the small square room near the registration desk, several men are gathered around her. They sit close, quiet, almost like mourners at a wake. No one moves. No one speaks. The stillness feels wrong.
“How is she?” I ask as I step closer.
One of the medics shakes his head. “Bad. Too deep. Cracked ribs. Head trauma. Internal bleeding everywhere. She ain’t gonna make it.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs, adrenaline flooding me all over again. My hands start to shake as the truth crashes down. I might have killed a human. The weight of it presses into my chest, heavy and suffocating. I don’t want this. I don’t want a stain like that carved into my life.
“Are you sure?” I push past them and drop to my knees beside her. “Let me see.”
Jo lies flat on the stretcher, her breathing shallow and uneven. Sweat slicks her skin, and blood seeps through the towel pressed against her neck and shoulder. The iron smell hangs thick in the air, sharp enough to burn the back of my throat.
“We tried a healing potion,” one of the medics says quietly, his brow pulled tight. “Works fine on magical folk, but not like this. Human wounds don’t close when they’re this big.”
“Did you call an ambulance?” I ask.
The two medics exchange a look.
“There’s no point.” Mr. Moris steps into the room. His voice is calm, flat, like this is nothing more than an inconvenience. “Humans don’t send ambulances down here. To them, we’re just freaks. Or worse. No one’s coming.”
My mouth falls open. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna let her die?”
He clicks his tongue. “She knew the risks. Best we can do is pray to the Moon Goddess and hope she listens.”
“She’ll bleed out if we do nothing,” I snap.
He looks at me coolly. “And you’re the one who beat her using your wolf. Congratulations. You won.”
The words hit hard. Guilt swallows me whole, thick and bitter. But that doesn’t make this right.
No. Wait. I’m the villain here. I let Mythril loose. Even for a second. Shifters heal fast. Lycans even faster. Humans don’t get that luxury.
“But you’re the one who told me to fight her,” I say, my voice unsteady.
“I told you to fight,” he replies. “Didn’t say how. End of the day, you beat her. That’s what mattered. Ain’t that what you wanted?”
My chest tightens. His words land harder than any punch she threw at me.
He’s right. This victory proves I’m not weak. That I can stand on my own, and I’m stronger than everyone thought. That’s what I wanted. Isn’t it? But without Mythril, would I have won at all?
“He’s got a point,” Mythril murmurs. “You’re stronger now, Alexa. You can control a leg without losing yourself completely. There must be something special in Mr. Moris’s magic. I can feel it.”
It doesn’t help. It only makes the guilt twist deeper. I bite down on my lower lip.
“Humans ain’t built for fights like this,” Harlow says softly as he kneels beside me, his eyes scanning her injuries. “She already took down that half-giant. I don’t know how she even stayed upright.”
Jo’s skin grows paler by the second. Her lips start to turn blue. The metallic stench thickens as blood keeps flowing. I swallow hard, my fists curling against the cold floor.
“No.” My voice cuts through the room. I look at Harlow, holding his dark gaze. Then I turn to Mr. Moris and meet his sharp eyes without flinching.
“I hurt her,” I say, breath coming fast and uneven. “That means I have to fix this.” I reach for Jo’s hand and clasp it between both of mine.
Harlow’s voice drops. “If you heal her like that, it’ll drain you bad. Could shave years off your life.”
Mr. Moris watches in silence, his eyes narrowing. The room holds its breath.